


Going Under

by cowboykylo69



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Mentions of KKK, Mentions of Police - Freeform, Period-Typical Sexism, a smidge of gun violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylo69/pseuds/cowboykylo69
Summary: As an undercover detective, it’s not unusual to break a few rules to get some classified intel. You just can’t seem to figure out why Flip Zimmerman would want to help you out.
Relationships: Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30





	Going Under

Skin tight and sparkling, dazzling too. This was not your usual work attire.

Well, this wasn’t your typical work outing either.

An informant had come forward, said he had intel on the KKK and their next meeting. Information even Flip (an undercover infiltrator himself) wasn’t aware of. You couldn’t pass it up. And you didn’t want to give up your informant to the precinct, so you decided against telling anyone about your meeting with him.

It was probably a bad idea to have gone back to the office to grab your audio recorder in the outfit you decided to wear to your meeting.

Because _of course_ , the only man who ever stays this late at work, hunched over files and files of names, dates, events, anything relating to his case with the KKK, was here.

Flip Zimmerman.

You thought you could walk by him without catching his attention. You thought if you stayed in the darkness of the hallway, swallowed by the shadows he wouldn’t notice you. But Flip was good at that, he was good at noticing things.

The sequins of your [dress](https://classiq.me/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/Michelle-Pfeiffer-in-Scarface.jpg) reflected the light from his desk lamp, catching your silhouette in the dark hallway. _You fucking siren, what were you up to?_

“ _Detective_.” He called out to you from his desk, all too cooly with a cigarette bobbing between his lips. He hadn’t even looked up at you. You tried not to flinch at his sudden firm voice, booming at you and jumping your bones.

“Zimmerman.” You waved, stopping in your tracts, lifting a hand to him and waving dumbly.

He finally looks up from his coffee stained files, making direct eye contact with you. A sly smile stretching across his face as he leans back in his chair, his eyes raking up and down your body as you move closer to him, settling awkwardly against the doorframe. He takes a particularly long drag from his cigarette.

“ _Whoowee_ , where you headed looking like that?” He asked through his smile, glancing at his watch to catch the time. It was getting close to midnight.

“Just… out.”

“Oh yeah? What’d you have to come back here for? Needed some pepper spray in case the guy tries something?” He’s intrigued now, questioning you like he would an informant. He leans forward on his desk, resting his weight on his forearms, cigarette between his long fingers now. You play along, laughing with him. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Yeah, something like that.” Flip nods, chuckling to himself as he brings his cigarette back up to his lips, taking another long drag. You try to look away as he blows smoke out of his nose. He stands up from his desk, walking slowly over to you in the doorway.

“Cute.” He nearly sneers, taunting you. “Now why don’t you tell me what’s really going on, hmm?”

“I’m just-”

“I saw you grabbing the audio recorder.” He says, shutting you down. Defeated, you sigh rather loudly, your shoulders sagging as you run a hand down your face.

“I’m meeting an informant.” You try to keep it short and sweet, hoping he won’t pry but Flip just raises his eyebrows, signaling you to continue. You sigh again. “He’s giving me intel on KKK activity, a possible outing that’s coming up.” Flip rolls his eyes.

“Rookie listen... I’m the one who gets KKK intel around here. What does he know that I don’t?” You shrug your shoulders, trying not to let the dumb nickname ‘ _rookie_ ’ sting as he spits it at you.

“All he told me was that there’s something going on this week that’s really hush-hush, even between members. He couldn’t elaborate more than that over the phone so I agreed to meet him at a bar.”

“Alone?”

“I can handle myself, Zimmerman.” Now you roll your eyes, you hated how much he doubted you, he always had. You were just really good at ignoring him, ignoring his stares and comments. _Usually_.

“Do you have any idea how fucking stupid that is? These people are sick, they’re not right in the head. I’m… I’m coming.”

“What? No, Flip I’ll be-”

“I’m coming. This isn’t up for debate... Wait here, I’m gonna go get you a microphone.”

You fought the whole way to his truck, which he insisted on taking. You told him he would blow your cover, you told him he would make things obvious, probably scare the guy. You told him that maybe he would recognize him, recognize him as ‘ _Ron_ ’. Flip didn’t say shit in response, just opened the passenger door for you and jogged to the driver’s seat, lighting up a new cigarette as he drove you two to the bar.

The car ride was tense, you fidgeted with the hem of your dress, acutely aware of how much skin you were showing, you could feel Flip’s burning eyes on you as he stole glances every now and then.

“You’re unbelievable.” You huffed, crossing your arms and looking out the window, trying to keep your mind focused on the mission.

“What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable. Somehow you’re going to manage to get all the credit for this too.” Flip brows furrowed in confusion, he turned to look at you properly for the first time since you two got in the car. He said your name but you averted his gaze as soon as your eyes met. A fleeting moment of tenderness passed through him.

“Doll, what are you talking ab-”

“We’re here.” You’re thankful for the switch of subject as you sit up suddenly in your seat, unbuckling your seatbelt and leaning forward to look into the place. You had no idea what the guy looked like. You assumed he would approach you once you were inside. Flip parked further down the street, on the opposite side. Thankfully it was a one way street so a get away, if necessary, would be easy.

“Hey don’t just jump out, the fuck-”

“Hand me the mic.” You said with urgency. Flip felt flustered watching you move, the way your breasts pressed against the fabric of your tiny dress, the soft swell of flesh at the perimeter of the shiny fabric, begging to be kissed, touched. He shuddered but turned quickly to hand you the mic kit, grabbing the headphones for himself.

You lifted your dress carefully so as not to expose your entire body to him. You pressed the microphone right in between your breasts but underneath the fabric, right above your belly button. Flip sucked on his cigarette, watching for a moment too long before turning his head away, giving you some privacy. You muttered a tiny ‘ _thanks_ ’. Flip just nodded, gaze averted as he stared out his window into the dead of night, images of your body burning into the back of his mind. Fuck, you looked so soft, so pretty. You shouldn’t be doing this...

Once you were done tapping the mic to your flesh, you secured the battery pack to your underwear. Thankfully it was thin enough to not cause too much of an obvious bump in your silhouette, the informant wouldn’t notice, not that he would really mind. He probably knew you would be recording something but he wasn’t the problem. KKK members were everywhere, they blended in, they could be anyone. You had to be sneaky, hide away from prying eyes that look for detectives, for cops.

But you were good, you were good at being sneaky, _conniving_. That’s why you were hired. Tonight, you would just look like you were on a friendly date.

You opened the car door, your heels clacking against the concrete. You close the car door quietly behind you, nodding at Flip before heading inside. Flip was easily more nervous than you were. He had experienced these guys first hand, you hadn’t. He knew how fucked up they truly were, how sick and twisted their minds were. Not only did they not trust anyone who didn’t look like them, they were weary of newbies too, white folks just like them.

Images flash in his mind of Felix holding him at gunpoint in his stale basement, threatening to pull the trigger if he didn’t prove he wasn’t circumcised, prove he wasn’t Jewish. Flip thought he was going to die that day. Truly thought he was going to be killed by some nazi in a basement. But Ron saved him, Ron sacrificed himself and saved the whole mission. Flip hoped it didn’t come to it tonight but if it did, he hoped he could save you too.

Chatter on the radio filled his headphones, cutting off his looming thoughts. Your sweet voice filled his head, surrounded him, nearly throwing him off balance in his seat. He tried to look into the bar, to see if he could see you from where he was parked but to no avail. You had sat somewhere out of eyesight and that made Flip nervous. He would have to work based on the tone of your voice, he’d have to judge for himself if you were in danger.

“Hey, George right?”

“Nope, but that’s the name I gave ya.” The guy chuckled. Flip didn’t recognize the voice, probably someone he hadn’t met, it did nothing to calm his nerves. “Didn’t think the name you gave me was yer own so, figured I’d play yer little game, right Pamela?”

_Pamela_. If Flip wasn’t so high strung, he would’ve laughed at that.

It must have been what? Only last week that he and some of the guys were briefly discussing Pamela Anderson after catching Jimmy reading a magazine she was featured in, teasing him about it, perhaps making too many lewd comments. Maybe you had caught that. Maybe it was a coincidence. Either way, Flip was flustered beyond belief.

You laughed anyways at ‘George’s’ comment, the sound made Flip feel drunk.

“So, what do you have for me George?”

“Now now darlin’, what’s the rush? Why don’t we get somethin’ t’ drink first?” You laughed again, fabric rustling too loudly.

“Sure... I’ll just have a Coke.” You say dismissively. Flip can hear ‘George’ ordering in the background while you seem to fidget around, maybe adjusting your dress.

The conversation progressed at a frustrating pace. The informant kept swerving around your questions, ordering too many drinks which made his sentences harder to understand, and that deep southern accent of his wasn’t helping his case either. Flip could hear the anger and frustration seeping into your voice, coating your words with a vicious bite and a sickeningly sweet laugh, trying to play it off cooly as to not give away your cover. _There were too many fucking rednecks in this part of town._

On his fourth drink, ‘George’ started letting his hand wander over to yours which rested on the bar countertop. You could tell he thought he was being real smooth, letting his fingers just graze ever so slightly over yours, followed by a gentle tap of his hand over the back of your palm, then he started leaving it there, running his thumb over your soft skin. It made your skin burn, not in that pleasant way but in the way that makes your stomach feel like it’s about to churn your Coke up your throat and out of your mouth, onto his nice shoes.

The worst part is you let him touch you, you let him get handsy all in the hopes of gaining information. _Don’t blow your cover, don’t blow your cover, don’t blow your cover._

“So…” you start, stretching casually, trying to rid your body of his grabby hands. “I hear Mr. Duke is supposed to be making an appearance, sometime at the end of this month right?” George nodded, reaching his hand over to you again, clearly he only had one thing on his mind, and that was not David Duke.

“Yeah darlin’, he sure is. I’m sure he’d like to meet somethin’ as pretty as you. I’m sure he’d like to show ya what the organization is _really_ capable of… they’re gonna make things go boom.” His hand had managed to slither itself around your waist, pinching your skin through the dress. He was practically standing next to you now, breathing down your neck.

Even Flip, who still sat all the way outside in his truck, could tell he was standing closer to you now based on the way his voice had moved in regards to the placement of your mic. It was coming in almost exactly where yours was. Was he hovering over you now? Touching you? He heard loud rustling, a clear agitation of the microphone taped above your belly button, how handsy was he getting? Flip’s heart started beating faster as he weighed his options, unsure of what to do, how to go about this situation stealthily.

“What do you mean, make things go boom?” You asked, bless your fucking heart, still going along with the mission. Still trying to coax answers out of this man who did not give one single shit about you or the information he promised. The more Flip thought about it, the more he realized this guy was probably just using you to go out on a date with someone way out of his league. George chuckled darkly, the sound disgusted both you and Flip.

“Why don’t I… explain it to ya real nice and real slow in the bathroom-” Flip flung the headphone off his head, grabbed his pistol and jammed it into the back of his jeans, making sure his flannel covered it as he secured it in his belt. He threw his hat on, tucking it low over his eyes and ran into the bar, only slowing down to a saunter when he entered. _Be fucking casual._

He got the slightest glimpse of a man entering the bathroom before he disappeared behind the closed door, and then he saw you, shining in the dark light of this dingy bar like you had a god damn halo around your head, perched perfectly on the stool like you weren’t having the worst time of your fucking life. You made wide eyes at Flip, shooing him away with a flick of your wrist but he just marched right up to you, grabbing the hand you were trying to motion him away with.

“Fli- what the fuck?” You whisper yelled at him, nearly saying his real name. You glanced over at the bathroom door that ‘George’ so confidently stormed into, so sure that you were hot on his trails, so into the idea of him fucking you. You felt sick to your stomach.

“Come on _Pamela_ , we’re leaving. This is over.” You glared at him, squinting your eyes, shooting fake lasers at him as hard as you could.

“But I can still get something out of him, let me-”

“I don’t think you and ‘George’ have the same idea of what it is exactly you’re going to be getting out of him tonight.” Flip glared, his fist clenching around your wrist, so small in his grasp. His eyes were filled with an emotion you didn’t think Flip was capable of feeling, _fear_.

“Let’s fucking go, pumpkin.” He spat the nickname out at you, it was better than rookie, but it still felt like a slap in the face coming from him in that menacing, annoyed tone.

You abandoned the mission. You let him drag you out of there, ‘George’ being none the wiser as he probably jacked off, alone in a stall with no one waiting for him on the other side of that door anymore. You didn’t feel bad, you just couldn’t help but think of what a pathetic situation this was, how stupid you had been to think this would work.

You thought about what could have happened if Flip wasn’t there to come knock you to your senses and out of your own stupid fucking naveity. You bet he got some weird, sick pleasure from watching you fail, maybe he felt guilty and felt the need to put an end to your suffering. He was always two steps ahead of everyone anyways.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You yell at him once you’re finally outside, standing next to his truck. You rip your hand from the vice grip he had you in, Flip only turning around to glare at you when you do so.

“What the fuck is my problem? _Rookie_ , he had his hands all over you, you were just gonna let that slide? Let him have his way with you?”

“Why do you care how I get my intel? I could have gotten something good, something _useful_.”

“Hmmm, sure. You go ahead, believe that. Keep indulging yourself in that fucking fantasy. He just wanted to fuck you!” He yells, voice booming down the street and it startles you, quite literally knocking you off your feet. You stumble backwards, stumble away from him.

Flip leans back against the side of his truck, pressing his palms into his eyes, trying to shut everything out, regain control. He didn’t mean to yell, really, he didn’t mean to. He just couldn’t stop the images flashing in his mind, ones of you sitting pretty while that faceless creep put his hands all over you, touching you, groping you.

He groaned something into his hands, unintelligible to you. You rolled your eyes at whatever it was he said and took a few steps forward until your hand rested on the car door handle.

“Let’s just go, Flip. Before he comes back out and notices I’m gone.” You say, voice much quieter now, gentler, smaller. It surprises Flip, he wasn’t expecting you to back down from a fight with him so soon.

You two always had such charged energy at the office whenever you were forced to interact, it came out in sharp comments from Flip and icy glares from you. You were getting sick of it if you were being honest. Flip sort of was too, tired of all the unnecessary coldness he always approached you with. Maybe he was just covering something up, repressing something.

But Flip nods his head and walks to the driver's side, starting the engine and driving back to the station.

The ride is quiet, much like the ride over except now you’re trying to stop your lip from trembling and your eyes from fluttering shut, threatening to spill the tears that well up in your eyes. _How could you be so fucking stupid? How could this have worked? How could tonight have gone the way you thought it would?_

“I’m sorry.” That low, baritone voice grumbles from the driver’s seat. You wipe your tears away that managed to fall with the back of your hand, turning to look at Flip in confusion.

“For what?” _Knowing tonight would be a disaster? Knowing that you would’ve fucked something up eventually?_

“That tonight didn’t go the way you wanted it to.” He kept his gaze ahead, not daring to turn and look at you in that dress with that sad expression on your face. He knew it would break him, make him say things he wouldn’t dare admit, say aloud. “I ruined it. I’m sorry that I fucked up the mission.”

That you were not expecting. Detective Flip Zimmerman apologizing to you. _You_. Of all people.

“It’s fine… you were right afterall I just… I just didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to do this myself, you know.” You shrug, as if it was no big deal. You wipe another tear that falls and Flip looks then, that fateful moment that he allows himself to look at you.

Eyes shiny, wet and big, looking right back at him, _into him_. Lips swollen, puffy. You sniffle, pulling your lips taught for a moment before they go back to their resting place, begging to be bitten, licked. Your chest moves gracefully somehow as small hiccups wracked your diaphragm and lungs, making it heave slightly as you try to restrain your sobs. Flip thinks he nearly crashes his truck, but he doesn’t, and you say,

“We’re here.” And he nearly gets whiplash from what a déjà vu this is. Reminds him of the beginning of the night when he had no idea what was in store. Somehow he even managed to park without realizing.

“No, I… I shouldn’t have been right. He shouldn't have acted that way. I just- when I could tell he was touching you… no one should touch you like that, not if you don’t want them to.” You sit there flustered, listening to him go on, voice low like the volume on the radio that you didn’t even notice had been turned on this whole time. You’re astonished. You can’t believe this is the Flip you know, standing up for you, advocating for you.

Flip sees the way you’re looking at him and hell, he’s just as surprised as you are. Suddenly embarrassed for going on such a tangent, he unbuckles himself and steps out of the car. You follow quickly behind him, his strides long and fast with those legs of his. You head into the building and follow him into the storage room so you can remove the mostly useless tape from tonight and return the audio recorder and mic that you borrowed.

The room is dark, stuffy from not being used in hours, the windows shut tight. Flip switches on a little desk lamp and you get to work removing the tape from your body. First, you unclip the battery pack, pulling the wire out from your dress and then your only left with the taped part.

You rip it off like a bandage, only a small noise being emitted from your throat at the sweet burn it left in its trail. That red mark would take hours to disappear, you would have to moisturize it when you got home.

“You good?” Flip asks, barely looking up from what he was doing, which was removing the audio tape from the recorder, writing down the date and names on it before storing it away to be reviewed tomorrow.

Questions burn on your tongue, wondering why he decided to help you tonight. Why he ‘came to the rescue’, why he felt the need to involve himself in something he could have just left alone. Something he could have just not asked about when you ran into him earlier this evening. Why did he-

“Why do you hate me?” You settle on, ignoring his question and shooting one back at him as you place the mic back in it’s box. He finally looked up at you, completely puzzled, like before. You roll your eyes, surely he must know what you mean. How could he think that you didn’t know how he hated you.

“ _Come on_ , Flip. I’m not in the mood for games, just answer the question.” You frown, shaking your head. It pounded and throbbed from the inside out, you felt like your head could truly combust right now. You just wanted this night to be over with, you wanted to go home and wash it away.

“You think I would have done that if I hated you?”

“You can still hate me and be a decent person.” You spit, turning away from him and willing your brain to stop creating more and more tears. They stung in your eyes, begging to be set free but you didn’t want Flip to see you cry, didn’t want him to know he could do that to you. You were just tired, emotionally drained.

A large warm hand placed itself on the small of your back, its warmth quickly travelling throughout your body like wildfire. Flip’s hand doesn’t wander, it stays put, just letting you know he’s there.

“I don’t hate you, Rookie-”

“Stop calling me that.” You whisper, voice so small, squeezing your eyes shut, _willing, willing, willing_ the tears away.

And then Flip says your name, possibly for the first time all night. And it fucking breaks you. His voice, so soft, gentle even. Quiet to not alarm you, the words caressing your ears, kissing your flesh. You want to melt into him, you don’t know why but you do. You want to stop fighting this…

You turned around to face him, his dark eyes boring into yours. He was much closer than you expected him to be. His hand hadn’t moved from its place, where it once rested on your lower back, now it grazed your hip, ghosting above the perimeter of your body like he was scared to touch you, _frightened_.

“You drive me fucking insane… but I don’t hate you.” His voice was quiet too, just like your own. Like the two of you were afraid to speak too loud because it would shake the dust off all these old files, awaken the ghosts.

“You drive me fucking insane too.” You want to laugh, you really do. Maybe you never hated him, maybe he never hated you. Maybe you made it all up, confusing one kind of tension for another. Maybe you really were naive, _stupid_.

His hand wraps itself around your waist, the other coming to do the same nervously. They truly engulf you, his hands. Big, warm and strong, they pull you closer to him and you gasp when your bodies collide.

“Flip-”

“When I heard him… when I heard how he was talking to you I just, I don’t know.” Flip takes a deep breath, letting his head lean down so that his forehead rests against yours. The intimacy startles you. You want to pull away from him but.

But you don’t. Instead you bring your arms up to hold the sides of his strong neck, feeling his pulse thrumming against your palm. What was happening? What were you doing-

“You, in this dress… _fuck_. I would have killed him if-if… He didn’t deserve to see you in this, didn’t fucking deserve to know what it feels like to touch you in it…” Flip’s voice trails off, it was quiet to begin with. His hands clutch the fabric at your waist, as if trying to draw you in closer to him, and you’re left speechless, just watching in awe as he works through his thoughts. That familiar crease between his brows appearing. You find yourself wanting to smooth it away, whether it be with your fingers or your lips you don’t care. You just- you just want to show him something other than that coolness you always give him. You want to be warm for him.

“And you do? You deserve it?” You tempt, not sure why you’re even bothering stepping on his toes at this point. _You suppose old habits die hard._

“You tell me.” He whispered, nudging his nose into yours and you gasp quietly, your breath fanning across his lips and he swears he could just melt into you right now, if that’s what you wanted. If you’d let him.

And you… you’re still too dumb to know what it is you want, too naive to give in, to melt into his hands. After what happened tonight, you’re scared, scared of how easily things can go wrong in ways you never could have foreseen.

But Flip saw.

Flip noticed.

Flip was _there_. Maybe you two would make a good team...

Taking a chance, you let your hands move to wrap your arms around his neck, nuzzling your nose into his before… before Flip lets you make your move, lets you come onto him, safe in his arms. He holds you so, so close as you let your lips brush against his, breathing him in, still deciding.

 _So indecisive_ , Flip thinks. He would laugh at you right now if you didn’t have him completely wrapped around your finger, hanging on your every move, waiting, waiting for you to take what you need from him.

You press into him, with your body and your lips, letting him hold you as close as he possibly could. Flip sighs against your lips, melting into your touch as your fingers comb themselves into his hair, tugging when you reach the ends. He groans, folding over you, tilting his head and opening his mouth for you, he runs his tongue against your closed lips. Asking.

 _Yes_ , you want to say, you want to yell, scream it at him. But all you do is moan pathetically into his mouth as you open up for him, blooming like a flower as his tongue dances over yours, pressing into your mouth, deeper, deeper. Flip groans too, he needed this as much as you did.

Whether it was from the frustration of tonight’s events or the tension that had been pulled tight between the two of you like a tightrope, building for months and months on end, but both of you cracked underneath the pressure of the night.

As Flip worked his jaw on you, he stumbled, falling into you, pushing you back until your ass hit the desk behind you, making it scrape and screech across the floor. Files flew off, pens scattered, rolling across the floor, even the lamp rocked back and forth, back and forth with the force Flip tackled you with. You whimpered into his mouth, letting him move you how he pleased.

You felt his hands slither down your body with haste, stopping only to grab at your ass through your dress. His big hands wrapped around the back of your thighs, hoisting you up until you sat perched on the desk, your legs parting all too easily for him to stand between, pressing his body flush against yours.

Flip continued to devour you, you put in as much effort as you could but you felt weak, dumb with the way his mouth was so soft and warm on yours, his stupidly perfect lips so wet and soft, gliding effortlessly against your own. Like he was made to kiss you.

You lost yourself in his kiss, in his caress, in his touch. You let him hold you, shift you however he wanted, you felt like you were in some old classic movie with the way he was kissing you, with so much passion, so much _vigour_.

As you dove deeper into him, your inhibitions fell further and further away. You tugged at his hair, pressing his face into yours so that his nose was pressed firmly into your cheek. Teeth grazing his plump bottom lip, you entertained the idea of biting into the supple skin for all of two seconds before you indulged yourself in the sick pleasure. Flip groaned, loud into your mouth as you sunk your teeth into his lip, only letting it go for him to pull back and stare at you with an abyss for eyes. His lip was swollen, you could practically see the blood rushing to the bitten area, making it redder, juicer. You did that to him. Flip growled, pressing his hips and his forehead into yours, both of you trying to regain your breath.

“Did I mention how sorry I was?” Flip said darkly, voice rumbling with lust, deep in his chest. You felt it reverberate into you, it made you shiver. That and the way he was looking at you made you want to… to be good for him. Submit. Listen to him for once.

You nod your head, so breathless as you looked up at him. He was so much bigger than you and your neck was beginning to hurt from all the straining you had to do to keep your lips pressed firmly to his.

“Do you hate me?” Flip asks now, his turn to get an answer. His hand rests against your neck, fingers grazing your jawline from how big it is, wrapping around you too easily. You never wanted him to let go. You bite your lip and eyes still looking up at him, chest heaving, _hard_.

“No, I… I think the opposite actually.”

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2?


End file.
